


Gentlemen’s Club

by leocanta



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Diogenes Club, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leocanta/pseuds/leocanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John goes to the club and Sherlock disapproves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentlemen’s Club

**Author's Note:**

> This my first attempt at any sort of structured fanfiction since I was a wee tweenybopper fan. Taken from my tumblr.

Everything was so out of character for John.  Those who saw him before his (becoming more regular) disappearances said he mentioned a club, but no specifics.  When John came home from his excursions, Sherlock could not see anything but normal John activities on him (cases, the surgery, and books).

Ah. There it was.  He was blind to have not seen it before.

Sherlock resumed his walking, having stopped short in the middle of a sidewalk with the revelation.  Someone had run into him, but he was far too gone in his mind to notice.  As he walked, he began to formulate a plan.  It needed to happen quickly, or he would lose the element of surprise.  The detective could already feel the prickle of eyes behind lenses on the back of his neck.  He hailed a cab, going for the most direct approach.  He flipped off the cameras for good measure.  Anything to piss off brother dearest.

_Mycroft._

Of  **course** his brother would try this.  Just couldn't leave it alone, could he?  London slid by quickly, and Sherlock was only marginally disappointed to see the doors of his destination had guards posted already.  He told the cabbie to continue on and Sherlock got out a block away.  No matter. 

Sherlock walked a street down, and entered the cafe behind the building under the guise of police work.  It wasn't too much of a lie.  As he entered, he saw men walking briskly towards him.  A smile crawled on his face; brother was getting slower.

***

The room was quiet, as it always was.  The only sound was the occasional flutter of turning pages.  It had taken a while, but John was now used to it.  It was not too different from being at the flat, but without the chance of a bloodied Sherlock carrying a harpoon.  Sometimes that was nice.  There was the sound of a far-off ruckus.  Not entirely uncommon in London.  A few of the men looked up, nerves easily scattered, as evidenced by their being in this bloody club of Mycroft's.  The sound stopped suddenly, and the room seemed to collectively hold its breath.

And proceeded to lose its shit when Sherlock came careening through the window.  Two men, Mycroft's by the telltale muffled feet, came in after him.   They were quickly grounded with a bat to the gut, courtesy of the consulting detective.  The club-goers scurried out.

Sherlock looked up, and smiled brightly.  As though it were a pleasant surprise to meet John here.  John meet his grin with a barely suppressed eyeroll and a huff to match.  "Ah," began the dark haired man.  "This is where you were off too."  He made a show of looking around.  "I was bored."  John had no words, instead leaning his head into the palm of his hand.

A shift in the air made John open his eyes, and he did not start when he found Sherlock's blues boring into his brown.  Too used to that.  "I thought for a brief moment you might have been cheating on me, seeing someone else..."  Sherlock said as he shrugged. "But I know you have better taste than my brother, so I suppose I'll be off now."  He leaned in to kiss John, quick and chaste.  "Ta ta."

Mycroft made it into the room only to see Sherlock's coattails out the window, and a red-faced John, head still pressed into his hand.  He quickly departed, whispering what he would do to that sodding brother of his under his breath.  John closed his book, and stepped over the two men holding their stomachs.  Perhaps the flat was a better idea, after all.  


End file.
